


Are We Saviors Of The Sun

by rosemary_madness



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Bottom morty, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gore, Graphic Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Slow Burn, Survivor Guilt, Top Rick, Vampire Hunters, altered history au, anal sex and all that rimming and sex jazz in the future, bby cinnamon roll morty, bc that is like my main love lol, idk they just hella gay, or i will at least try..., smut to come, they kill some vampires, tsundere rick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 05:35:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14395386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosemary_madness/pseuds/rosemary_madness
Summary: He’d deny it later, but as Rick laced the rosary around the stiffening fingers, he bent down to the woman’s ear.“Please… if you see them. Tell them I’m sorry.”Immediately after, Rick snaps back into a sitting position, spine laced tight as he grabs the knife again.“May the Lord Jesus Christ protect you and lead you to eternal life.”---It's a nasty business, hunting vampires, but when the both of you are fucked up and looking for a clear conscience, it seems like a pretty nice occupation.





	Are We Saviors Of The Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhhhh I know I have other projects to work on, but this finished chapter draft has been sitting in my docs, so here it is 
> 
> Love you klaxaddict for taking a look at this for me <3 you are a babe, and I'm glad we're gore whores together ;) 
> 
> I don't even know what to comment rn except that I really hope that you like the story and get on this vampire hunter AU train with me 
> 
> Love all you nice and lovely readers <3

Towns like this are always shitty. 

They’ve got the shittiest alcohol selection in small villages. Just poorly made liquor or coarse beer, and that’s it. It’s no wonder only a few other people are in the tavern right now; might as well make their own booze if these are the options. 

Seated at the bar, Rick notices a harsh change of tone behind him. The three other men drinking were having a discussion about crops and cattle drives, topics that Rick would only mock, but the now hushed timbre and switch of discussion piques his interest. 

Vampires are no fantasy, that much is sure. An attack every few months is considered admirable from the local priest, and many people wandering town to town swear they’ve seen a blood-sucker scuttling through the trees at night.And yet, people treat the topic like it’s some unspoken evil, unleashed amongst the people when the word is uttered. True, they’re creatures of the devil, in some respects, but that doesn’t mean they’re demons crawling through the air, waiting for permission to possess the local sinner. 

Taking another drag from his drink, he listens to the fumbled stories, each man sharing the tragedy of their fallen cow. 

“Give it a rest, Daniel. Well, from what you’ve said, I’d reckon Brandon here stole ‘em right from under your nose,” one of them, Elijah…? chuckles, or tries to at least. Clearly, this man fears that demon in the shadows. 

“I know what I saw, dammit!” There’s the sound of a chair grating along the wood floor. Rick can’t help but snort, rolling his eyes at the idea these simpletons could get so riled up about cows, especially on this light shit they’re all trying to stomach. 

The owner peeks his head around Rick, looking up from the glass he’s cleaning and rolling his eyes. From the resigned expression on the man’s face, Rick assumes these scuffles must be a common occurrence. These men don’t even need the good shit to get going...

“How the hell would you even know what a vam--blood-sucker attack was like, Daniel? I’m just saying you’re being a little ridiculous bringing those demons into the conversation.” 

“I’ve seen ‘em with my own to eyes,” Daniel stammers, likely deciding whether to go with his lie or not. Rick would love to hear just what this guy thinks said demons look like, turning his head a little to get a better listen. 

The others are curious too, falling silent as they wait to know if their bluffed descriptions match with his. The sky-haired visitor has a hunch they won’t.  

“I’ve seen those blood-suckers wandering about. They’ve got tails just like the devil, and claws to match their ugly fangs. Makes your skin jump out your body. But the worst part, that’s their faces. They’ve got the face of pigs and horns of the devil’s ram, smelling like the slaughterhouse.” 

Rick can’t help but laugh then, finishing the rest of his drink and handing it back to the bartender who looks less than enthused that he’s butting into the conversation. 

“I-I’ve never heard that before. Je-Jesus Christ. Have you even smelt a vampire?” 

All of their heads snap towards him, he doesn’t even need to look to know that. The way he can hear their chairs scraping on the floor, Rick figures their bodies must be flailing about like strung up laundry, angry jaws pulled into tight lines. 

“Sure as hell I’ve seen one of--one of those monsters! Didn’t you hear what I said?” 

A grin carves into Rick’s placid expression, staring at their reflections on the cabinet mirror. 

“Oh I definitely heard you. I heard the whole damn thing about your ugly cow and you-your little description, but I know it’s all shit,” Rick drawls, trying to keep the mocking lilt to a minimum.

He watches the distorted image, examining as the beard on Daniel’s dirty face shifts and the knuckles on the table begin to curl in on themselves. 

“Calm the fuck down,” He hears Brandon grumble, his face out of the mirror’s view. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about either, so cool it. I’m sure Donna’s waitin’ up on you anyways.” 

Maybe it’s the fact that his friend agrees that he’s wrong, or perhaps it has to do with the mere fact he’s being told what to do, but whatever it is made Daniel snap. Quicker than a bullet, his chair goes falling to the ground and his fist is flying into the air. 

Rick is almost tempted to turn around and get some form of entertainment from that, but at the end of the day, it’s just another bar fight, so he refrains, staying tucked on his stool and listening as knuckles attempt to make contact and insults start falling. Elijah must have been having a helluva time finishing his beer at that table.

“I wasn’t the one who fucking called you out! It was that man over there.” 

And there it is. Without fail, it always comes around to blaming someone else, trying to take whatever responsibility and pain is directed at oneself and throwing it at another person. Rick is all too familiar with this phenomenon. 

“You!”  

Rick remains silent. What was the point of speaking up except to confirm the obvious? The hits are going to come regardless of him confirming Daniel’s stupid accusations, so there’s no use in exerting the effort. 

“I’ve seen a fucking--I’ve seen a blood-sucker before, you got that?” 

“You mean a vampire,” Rick corrects, gesturing for another drink as he taps itching fingers on the counter. “If you’re gonna talk about it, use the goddamn name.” He takes a pull of the drink tossed his way and wrinkling his brow when he remembers how bad it is.  

Rather than speaking, Daniel throws a punch at him, the fist rushing past his ruffled blue hair and closer to the barman. 

“I’m just saying--” Rick starts, shifting his head to the right. “That if you know so much--” and back to the left. “About vampires--Then you should know--” dodging left and right, bringing his drink along with him, “The name does--” he stills, catching a faint scent in the air, the indication that his instincts had been onto something about this town, blood. 

“Nothing,” he finishes, muscle memory carrying him through the last intended hit. “Just like your shitty lies about seeing vampires.” Rick downs the rest of his drink, trying to focus on listening for any other telltale signs. 

None of the others notice, and he didn’t expect them to, but it is irritating that Daniel and his other little farmer friends have to keep yammering as they are. 

“And what do you know, mister?” Elijah is trying to spare his winded friend more embarrassment, taking up the air with his calm speech. Rick’s really in no mood to offer any sort of insight at the moment, but he figures they’ll go back to fighting like dogs if he doesn’t, so he humors them. 

“I travel the woods a lot. Do my business throughout multiple towns, so I happen to come across them every so often.” As if their small brains could handle the fact he kills vampires as an occupation. 

“Your reflexes are pretty fast,” Daniel huffs, coming back into the conversation, face red from anger, even more so than is coming through on the reflection.  “I’d say they might even be--” 

If he has to hear another word stumble from that idiot’s mouth, Rick knows he’ll find himself nose-deep in some blood too, and that won’t help the situation. 

“Yeah, I am fast, Daniel. You-You think a man could hunt for a living and not be quick on the-his feet? I’d reckon not,” he mocks, mirroring their twang as he swivels the empty glass. 

The others catch on now, all of them hearing the screams that are coming their way, effectively dropping the subject. He readies his hand, grazing against the pistol on his left as he waits for it to come closer. How the hunter hadn’t been aware enough of his surroundings to keep better attention on them until now was something he’d chide himself for later, but for now, he has to stay focused. 

As he ran through inventory, whatever Rick was waiting for crashed through the door. With bated breath, the hunter snaps back around in his stool, looking at the possible threat. 

Near the entry of the room, outlined by the light of the morning sun is a boy, 15-20 years old, harder to tell by his small and shuddering frame, hands and chest covered in fresh blood. He’s sobbing, lungs battering against his chest and making his brown curls toss about, but that’s not what Rick’s focusing on.

The others are trying to find it too, the bite mark that could be hiding on the boy’s body, but Rick moves them all out of view as he shoves past and sends the kid tumbling to the floor. These men with their distant guns and crosses strung on their necks aren’t gonna accomplish anything. 

“You’re all fucking idiots. Move.” 

Rick’s quick, setting the weapon on the boy’s chest and catching a glimpse of his panicked eyes as he struggles to understand what’s going on. The hunter pins the squirming boy down with his knee, caging the thin wrists with one hand and scanning the other along the goose-bitten skin to find out if the boy’s been bitten, which doesn’t seem to be the case. 

The kid’s scared, panicked, but not by the iron on his chest, just by the moment around him and likely what he’d just seen. It’s understandable, but Rick still thinks he looks like a wild animal, lost and making his and everyone else’s situation worse with the struggle.

“Please! Please, Elijah, she’s hurt! Helena’s bleeding out--” 

Rick cuts him off, cupping a hand to his mouth when he becomes confident of the answer. The kid’s not a vampire, but if he blabbers on, Rick won’t be able to find the person who may become one. 

“You keep talking like that, and they’ll kill you,” Rick grumbles, hair curtaining down around the boy’s face as he warns him. “Now, you’re gonna lead me to Helena,  _ silently _ .” 

He pulls the brunet to his feet, watching the kid stumble like he’s got shattered knees and dragging him outside of the bar as he points his gun at the others. 

“Get to her house in ten minutes. Come before, and you might end up dead.” 

No one bothers to fight him on it, nodding their heads before remembering their haughtiness. They yell out that the man is foolish, falling on deaf ears. Rick doesn’t have time to listen to them, following after the boy as he shakily makes his way down the block and off to a small farm before throwing his small frame at the door. 

He pulls the boy back, throwing him behind him as he readies his right revolver and kicks the door into the house. He’s almost positive that the vampire’s already gone with the kid seeing the victim and not getting bitten, but he’d prefer to take the precaution to keep from fighting more opponents. 

The kid’s still crying behind him, the wild sobbing fading into broken ramblings as he succumbs to the shock of the situation. Rick had expected a lot more shrieking from the subdued boy, but it helps him listen, so there’s no reason to question a gift. 

He checks all of the rooms, all soaked in the scent of iron, running his eyes along every shadow he sees, until he finally listens to the pleas that he head for the kitchen. 

Rick’s pushed to the side, the kid rushing past him and applying pressure on the now thoroughly soaked bandages he presumably gave the woman before running for help. Its futile, and Rick’s sure that even the boy knows that, his clothes drenched in the liquid that only continues to pool around the quivering body, but that doesn’t stop the kid from putting as much effort and emotion into the care as he can. 

“Please, sir. P-please, please help her! She’s gonna die--She’ll die if you don’t help her!” 

Rick can feel something akin to sympathy as he watches the tear-streaked eyes looking back at him with so much desperation, dare he say, hope even? He remembers what it’s like, the denial that comes with a loved one dying.

“She  _ will _ die,” he finds himself saying. “No matter what you do, she’s going to die, and you can’t stop it.” 

There’s no point in the kid getting hurt, him feeling like there’s some method they just haven’t tried, him ignoring the obvious, in him telling himself that if he believes just a little more that his wife will come back a--Fuck.  

The hunter’s almost tempted to walk out right then and never look back. There is no time for memories like those, not when they are as pointless as this kid’s efforts to save his mother. Yet he resists. Maybe it has to do with that feeling of pity that slithered into his veins a few moments ago or perhaps it's the fact he wants to prove to himself and this kid how pointless hope is; he doesn’t know. All Rick knows is that he needs to end this. 

“But what if we--” the boy chokes out, shaking his head and shielding the body away from Rick. 

“No. Move out of the way.” 

There’s resistance as the boy continues to shake his head, applying too much pressure to the deepest bite mark on the chest, but Rick refuses to ask twice and waits until the other gives up and moves. 

“Why?” He can hear the boy whisper under his breath, his crimson-coated hands shuddering in front of his wet face. That only makes it worse. For the second time, Rick is tempted to walk away from a mission, maybe even run if memories keep tearing at him as they are. 

“There doesn’t have to be a reason why. What matters is that it is happening. There’s no sense fighting it, kid.” 

There’s a strangled pull of air from the woman, and Rick knows it’ll continue until the breath gets choked out or enough blood leaves the body, so he goes to the ground and unsheathes a dagger at the bloodied throat. At least the kid won’t have to see anything new. 

“Don’t! Please don’t kill her. She-she--” 

“She’s going to die, and you’re killing her slowly the longer you wait to do this. Make your call,” Rick snaps, pointing the blade at the broken boy before clearing his throat and bringing the edge back to the stuttering body. He shouldn't have snapped like that. 

“Go grab me her rosary.” It’s not a command, but an offer, a small opportunity Rick gives the kid to make peace with this. The boy can grab the beads, examine why this is best, and feel comforted by the supposed promise of Heaven. 

The kid takes it, retreating into the next room over and shuffling through drawers. Rick’s sure the kid’s crying more, wondering if he is actually making the right decision, and where that’ll put him if it’s not, but the hunter can only compare to personal experience he’s been lying about for 12 years, so maybe not. 

The brunet hands over the beads, hands surprisingly still and only hesitating a moment before letting go. The hunter would be happy for him if he didn’t know how the decision will still claw at this kid for the rest of his life. It could be tucked at the back of his mind and quiet like Rick’s gotten it to be, but more than likely it’ll be a scream to the ear with the beliefs the kid seems to be sporting. 

Rick offers a small nod, trying to assure the other that he’s made the right choice, but he doesn’t have the capacity to gauge the reaction. 

Bringing the blade back down to the woman’s chest, Rick draws in a final breath, trying to let his hand that hasn’t hesitated for 10 years adjust its grip. He remembers the beads then, bringing them up and determining the hands’ level of malleability. 

He’d deny it later, but as Rick laced the rosary around the stiffening fingers, he bent down to the woman’s ear. 

“Please… if you see them. Tell them I’m sorry.” 

Immediately after, Rick snaps back into a sitting position, spine laced tight as he grabs the knife again.

“May the Lord Jesus Christ protect you and lead you to eternal life.” 

He hears the boy whisper an amen over the sound of the blade dipping below the skin, and though he hopes it will bring the kid some closure, Rick can testify that his desires for this kill ending the guilt over his family are more than broken. The hunter supposes he’ll just be fucked for the rest of his life, as he already thought, and sadly the kid probably will be too. The boy starts shaking again, doing his best to hold back the tears, and Rick concedes that he must be right. 

“You need to get out of town,” Rick mumbles, standing and wiping the blade on his coat, offering a hand when he deposits it back in place. It’s odd when the boy takes it, making Rick tense with the feel of the smaller hand. It’s like grabbing his own hand that night, attempting to coax himself from the ground and pulling the younger, naive him off to the terrible choices he’d make. 

“I should stay with her. She doesn’t deserve to be alone. Not when they’ll burn--” The kid can’t even bring himself to finish the sentence, but Rick knows what he means, again, which he hates more than listening to someone cry. 

There’s an idea at the back of Rick’s mind, whispering from where he tried to leave the memories of his family. He automatically rejects it, looking back at the kid and putting his gun back in the holster.

“Those same people are going to burn you alive if you stay. I don’t think you have a choice on this.” 

The boy just nods, tucking his head down and clenching his hands by his sides. 

“Alright,” he whimpers, unclenching his fists and looking back up at the hunter for a moment before starting to walk over to another room. “Thank you for… for at least giving her a chance at peace… I hope you have a safe journey.” 

Rick’s left alone again, watching with confused eyes as the kid disappears into the bathroom and sloshes a bucket around to wash the stains out that will always be tattooed in memory. He shouldn’t care. This should not matter to him at all. In fact, the hunter should be happy that the kid took the initiative to leave him alone like that. But he’s not. It reminds him too much of himself, all of this does, and it eats away at him like the memories constantly try to. What if the kid dies? What if he tries to stay here? Or what if, worst case scenario, he gets bitten? 

Before he has the chance to convince himself that the answers don’t matter, the kid is walking back, a new set of clothes layered on, a bag slung on his shoulder, and a rifle falling from his arm. Rick hates how shocked the boy is to see him still standing there, like he knows how much the hunter wanted to run off, causing Rick to feel close to guilt. 

“I figured I could give you a lift to the next town over… Townspeople might follow you, and that vampire might still be nearby.” He contemplates calling it a blood-sucker or another euphemism for the boy’s sake but figures it’s pointless to dodge. 

“Th-thank you, sir. I don’t know how to thank you…” 

“No need to thank me, kid. You got a name?” 

“Okay… thank you. I’m Morty. But-but you can call me kid if you prefer!” 

Rick gawks, somehow finding a way to be shocked with this kid. He doesn’t get how the boy, Morty, can be so whipped like he is, unable to stand for his own name at the very least, when everyone else existed to demand superiority. The hunter tells himself it's just the nerves of a boy who’s got blood on the eyes but tries not to think too much about. 

“Alright, jesus. No need to get your tongue in a twist. Morty it is.” 

True to the request, the men from the bar and a few others are waiting outside of the property gate when they get there. They part for the pair when they arrive, guns pointed from a distance as they try to decide what to do. 

“The kid’s clean, so’s your lady. Killed beforehand. So we’ll be going now.” He tries to walk past and be left alone, but one of them, good ole Daniel, steps in front of them. 

“We’ve gotta take the boy. He’s gonna kill us all if he’s not tested.” A gun is pointed to the boy’s head to emphasize the point. All it does is make Rick’s blood boil. 

“I said the kid’s clean. You don’t need your bullshit tests for him, got it?” he hisses at the end, hand an inch from his weapon. 

“How do we know? Maybe you’re a vampire too.” All of the others begin to move further back, fearing that they might have to face two vampires, but Rick’s mind is still on the gun to Morty’s head from the lone fanatic. If they think for one moment that they can kill him after all of that then they are grossly mistaken. 

“You want me to prove he’s not a vampire?” The others nod sheepishly, tucked behind their guns. Daniel seems to think he’s won somehow, beginning to smirk, which only offers a perfect target for Rick’s fist. 

He hones in his rage: directing all of it from himself and the situation into Daniel’s face as he hits him square in the jaw and knocks the gun out of the man’s hands. The others around seem ready to shoot, but choose to withhold, perhaps sensing that they’re the fools of the situation. 

“There’s your proof motherfucker. Now you’ve got blood on your face, just like the kid did. Still not a vampire though, are you?” He cocks his gun, bringing it between Daniel’s eyes and looking around at the others for their guns to point back down. 

The townsmen finally pull away, deciding to leave them alone and duck into their houses. Cowards. 

Rick can’t look over at Morty as they move forward, knowing he doesn’t want to see the fear in his eyes right now, not when he’s trying to get his shit together again. They weave through the small town, working their way past locked houses and empty pastures until they make their way into the outskirts and then onto the open path, caged in by the forest. 

“Listen, this uh, might be a bad time to-to say this, but maybe you should’ve listened to them back there.” 

The words pull Rick from his thoughts, his brows knitting together as he grunts. “You really gonna make that call now, Morty?” 

Morty’s quick to try and explain himself, tripping over words as he waves the accusation away with flailing hands. “No, no, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. I just… I seem to attract… trouble wherever I go, and I don't want to put that responsibility on you,” he trails off, losing the ability to speak the more Rick stares him down. 

“Listen, kid, you need to stop with this backtracking shit. Just because this happened doesn’t mean--” 

“This wasn’t the first time,” Morty interjects, biting his lips and walking a little ahead after he’d said it. 

Oh. Well that makes shit a little more interesting. 

“Whelp. I’ve been around more than a few of those bastards in my lifetime, so don’t sweat it. It’s just to the next town anyways….” 

Morty nods, looking from Rick to the path and walking a little behind him again. 

“Okay… Thank you, uh… I never caught your name.” 

“Doesn’t matter, kid.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I really really hope you like the story!! 
> 
> Leave a kudos or kind comment if you did <3 ^_^ I love to hear from all of you sweet people


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